Shopping Bags or Suitcases
by Gwen's Blue Box
Summary: John comes home and finds the flat in a state of disarray - and his flatmate packing. Packing? That is when John gets to know that he is to go on a holiday - or what Sherlock assumes to be a holiday. One-shot in which Sherlock comes into contact with John's jumpers and is being his usual enigmatic self and in which John is simply overwhelmed. Close to crack.


A one-shot, yes. Humorous, for once. Enjoy.

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**Shopping Bags or Suitcases**

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John was panting heavily by the time he had reached the top of the stairs, carrying one bag in each hand.

"Sherlock!" he called.

Nothing.

"Sherlock!"

A crashing noise. John cursed under his breath and dragged the bags into their living-room.

"Sherlock, what the hell are you do-" John stopped mid-sentence as he perceived his flatmate, balancing a pile of clothes towards the table, their table where a suitcase was lying, wide open and already halfway packed. Or crammed, rather.

"Packing," Sherlock replied, violently stuffing the clothes into the case. "Can't you see?"

For a moment, John forgot to close his mouth. "I see," he then replied, not bothering with hiding his sarcasm. "And why the hell are you packing?" He let his gaze wander through the room for a moment. "Wait, is that my jumper? And my suitcase? Sherl-"

"Packing, yes," Sherlock interrupted him irritably. "We're going on a holiday. Well, let's say holiday."

If he hadn't let go of his shopping bags already, John would certainly have dropped them. "We're going…," he repeated.

"On a hoilday, yes," Sherlock finished his sentence, heading towards his own room again. "You and me, away. On a plane. For a few days. I took the liberty to pack for you - you always take ages with that."

John's chin dropped again. "I take… Sherlock, what… Where are we going?" he finally settled on.

"Finland," Sherlock yelled, coming back from his room, another pile of trousers in his hands. "Plane leaves in… 5 hours and 46 minutes from Heathrow."

It was a joke. It had to be a joke. John couldn't believe it. "Finland," he echoed, still dumbfounded. "Sherlock, it's March! It will still be winter in Finland! I assume so, at least…"

"Fine," Sherlock muttered, busy with closing his suitcase. "A brilliant chance for you to go skiing while I'm investigating. Or whatever possible boring things you can do when on holiday."

"Ski- Sherlock!" John yelled, storming after his flatmate who had dashed into the kitchen, seizing his microscope. "I don't even know how to go skiing! And you're investigating? What are you- Oh no. Tell me that's not true. Tell me it's not true."

Alone the fact that Sherlock simply rushed back to the living-room, avoiding his gaze and not shooting back an answer told John that he was right. "We're following this guy. The one you think murdered six people in the past four weeks. The one Lestrade had to let go because he had a valid alibi. The one-"

This caused Sherlock to stand still for a few seconds, staring at John. "I know he murdered them, John! I know it, and now he's left the country to visit his step-daughter as he claimed in front of Lestrade and the entire Yard, and I know for sure that the sixth one hasn't been his last victim. He kills for a reason, John, and he will do it again. Unless I find him and get a confession out of him. So, I need to go after him."

Shell-shocked, John flopped down on his armchair. "Couldn't you just inform… I don't know… the local forces? Tell them to keep an eye on him?"

Sherlock put his microscope down on the table, shoving his suitcase aside with a kick of his leg. He raised an eyebrow. "Really, John? They wouldn't even suspect him. A well-off banker, visiting his family after a business trip to Great Britain? The one ordinary people would like to have as a neighbour, kind and always so _proper_? No, I need to go and see for myself. I need to find proof against him… and for that, I need to go to Finland."

John rubbed his face in frustration. "How did you even get a flight ticket so quickly?"

"Two, John, two," Sherlock corrected him, picking up his violin. "Courtesy of Mycroft. Owed me a favour."

John huffed in exasperation. "Of course," he mumbled and shook his head at the same time. "I should have known. What about… I don't know. Some kind of entry documents or whatever you need for such a journey?"

"Mycroft," Sherlock repeated, plucking at a few strings. "Now I owe him a favour. See, John? This _is _important. It is important that I go, and I always work better when I've got someone to talk to out loud."

Important. Still absolutely stunned, John shook his head again. "God, we need to inform Mrs Hudson, I need to call Harry, I have to pack…"

Gentle all of a sudden, Sherlock put his violin in its case. "I called Harry," he informed John matter-of-factly. "She seemed rather pleased that you were about to get some… time off, as she phrased it. Mrs Hudson will be away for the next few days, no need to inform her. Your suitcase is over there, fully equipped."

"Right," John muttered, feeling utterly overwhelmed. "What did you even pack? And why did you rummage around in my cupboard- Oh, never mind. Jumpers?" he asked.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, but nodded. "You hardly seem to have anything else to wear," he mumbled under his breath while placing the violin and its case on the book shelf.

"Socks?" John went on, trying to remember everything he had ever heard about Finland. Snow. Cold. Winter. Dark. Not much. Nothing, in fact, except for prejudiced clichés. "A blanket?"

Sherlock huffed and pulled his scarf around his neck. "They do have a heating there, John," he reminded him.

John sighed. "Oh really? Brilliant. It's winter nonetheless."

"Jumpers, trousers, more jumpers, socks, your horrendous blue blanket, your favourite pillow, underwear. Teethbrush. A towel. Do you need anything else when you go on hoilday? No? Perfect. Let's go, John."

"Now?" John watched as Sherlock put on his customary coat and stuffed his gloves into the pockets.

And of course Sherlock frowned at him. "Of course now," he replied, taking hold of his suitcase. "As I said, our plane leaves at…"

"Yes, I got that," John interrupted him, raising his eyebrows. "But… I need a bit of time, to… to… check what you forgot and…"

"No need to repack, John," Sherlock interjected, too. "I've got everything you need. Your laptop's in your suitcase, by the way."

"How very reassuring," John mumbled, quietly enough for Sherlock to miss it. "Why do you even want me to come?"

Sherlock sighed dramatically and stopped for a few seconds. "Don't be dull, John. Isn't it obvious? I could never go anywhere without my most faithful blogger, could I? Now, hurry up."

For a moment, John didn't know if he should blush or grab Sherlock and tie him to his armchair, to keep him from making John crazy.

"John, come on now," Sherlock told him, not bothering with turning around.

"Who said I'm coming?" John yelled after him as Sherlock dragged his wheeled suitcase towards the stairs.

Sherlock stopped for another split-second before his lips curved into a familiar smile. "Really, John?" With that, he turned around and left John behind.

John's gaze shot from his suitcase to the shopping bags, back to his suitcase. "Oh, for God's sake," he mumbled and pushed himself out of his armchair, grabbing his suitcase and hurrying after Sherlock.

"Finland?" he asked as they were waiting for a cab to pass by.

Sherlock smirked at him, pulling his coat collar up. "Finland."

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I just had to. The idea of Sherlock packing for John was too funny to resist.

Thank you for reading, and, if you like, leave some feedback.


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